


Getaway Car

by WingedWolf121



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, BAMF Merlin, ER Nurse Gwaine, Multi, Social Worker Gwen, Surgeon Merlin, Uther Pendragon's A+ parenting, dubiously accurate medical procedures, magical healing, somewhat poor medical ethics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-04-21 10:24:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14282874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingedWolf121/pseuds/WingedWolf121
Summary: Merlin Emrys is a trauma surgeon. Arthur Pendragon has been shot.(Alternately: Merlin Emrys is a law abiding citizen. Arthur Pendragon is planning a heist.)(Alternately: Merlin Emrys has magic. Arthur Pendragon is heir to a sacred brotherhood devoted to controlling and containing the influence of magic in the mortal realm.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Partially inspired by the fact that I turned on “The Night Shift” when I was bored and it became my new guilty pleasure ridiculous tv show, partially because I wanted the knights to wear leather jackets. Note: I don’t know anything about medicine, take nothing in this fic as actual fact. (That said, I think it’s still more accurate than “The Night Shift.” That place is like, the worst hospital in the world.)

Merlin was already on his feet and running when his pager went off.

 _“Male, mid-twenties, GSW to abdomen.”_ The loudspeakers called as Merlin flew down the corridor. The pager clipped to his pocket buzzed frantically. _“Dr. Emrys to the trauma bay.”_

Merlin burst through the doors. There was already a mob of doctors around the body, half of them ER and half of them trauma. Gwaine was with them, already working on stabilizing the patient.

“What happened to him?” Merlin asked as he yanked on a cap and surgical gown.

“Don’t know, his mates brought him in,” Gwaine said. He hunched over the patient, his hands slippery and scarlet. “Already suffering major blood loss, internal trauma. Assault rifle, bet you five quid.”

“How are his vitals?” Merlin asked. He slipped a mask over his face. 

“Going down fast,” Gwaine replied. He finished attaching the electrocardiogram sensors to the man’s chest and stepped back, so the operating nurses and other physicians could swarm around the body. Merlin stepped to the patient’s side as Gwaine melted away, headed back to the ER.

The patient was only semi-conscious, thank God.

Young, male, quite fit, blonde, and one of the ER nurses had already sliced away his shirt to expose his abdomen. He’d been shot at the left upper quadrant, very close his stomach. His bright blue eyes fluttered open and shut as their anesthesiologist slid a tube down his throat.

Underneath the hum of activity, Merlin could still hear the sound of the man’s blood dripping on the operating room floor.

“Make sure he’s getting transfusions,” Merlin ordered as he began chest compressions.

“Exit wound right next to his spine, but some of the bullets fragmented,” Sophia said. She was already swabbing disinfectant around the area of penetration. “They’re still inside.”

“Fuck,” Merlin said. The man twitched, but he was failing. Merlin shifted position to allow someone to slide the sonogram device over the man’s abdomen. “How long since the injury?”

“His friends said less than ten minutes.”

Much, much, longer than this man could afford.

“Low respiratory rate,” another nurse said. “BP dropping.”

“X-ray is a mess,” the radiologist said over Sophia’s head. He swung the monitor around so Merlin could see the confusion of blurred lines and smudges. Two of the bottom ribs were broken.

“This isn’t going to work—scalpel,” Merlin said. Someone passed it to him. Merlin snapped on new gloves, ones that weren’t slick and red already. “We can’t get to the damage unless we open him up.”

“Yes sir.” 

“Lidocaine!” Merlin called over his shoulder. Sophia was there, pressing the syringe into the patient’s chest cavity. _No time for anesthetic._

His face had barely been touched. Just one smudge of blood on his chin, a tiny bit of scarlet against tan skin. Merlin wanted to wipe it off with his thumb. The patient really was an extraordinarily handsome man.

Christ, what an inappropriate thought to have in the middle of major surgery.

“I’m doing a bilateral thoracotomy,” Merlin said. The patient’s heart was still beating in desperate thumps, somehow still pumping blood through whatever remained inside his chest cavity. Blood sputtered up as they sliced down the patient’s chest, tying back the lines of skin and muscle to reach the ribcage. One of the nurses slid the lebsche knife under the patient’s breastbone and hooked it, so Merlin could break the bones to open the ribcage. “Everyone ready?”

He received a stirring of nods. Under the masks, Merlin couldn’t see anyone’s faces, but he knew they were drawn, some of them probably dubious.

The chest _cracked_ as it opened, and the sound echoed around the operating room.

 _Oh, fuck._ Merlin thought.

Gwaine was right, it must have been an assault rifle. The bullet fragments were lost in the mess of organs and damaged vessels. Merlin categorized them rapidly: _intestines perforated—emergency colonoscopy. Damaged vessels to the lungs—look for oxygen deprivation. Bone fragments causing tissue damage. Hemorrhaging. Can see the operating table through the exit wound in the back._

“Clamp the aorta,” Merlin said. Direct the blood upwards, into the brain, not into the red swill pooling around the man’s arteries. The attendants moved. They would go through the motions. They’d go through the motions as long as Merlin asked them to, no matter how hopeless the case looked. 

But—his heart was still beating. He’d hung on, somehow. This man had clung to life through all this as if he were waiting for Merlin. Like he was waiting to be saved.

“Sir, he’s coding,” one of the nurses said.

“Keep suctioning,” Merlin said. He reached into the patient’s chest and this—this was the part that was crucial. He cupped the patient’s heart in his hand and massaged rapidly, as someone around him grabbed the sterilized defibrillator paddles. Merlin lifted his hand off. “Clear!”

The patient’s heart beat once at the shock and Merlin leaned in again, this time holding his heart in both hands. He squeezed, matching the rhythm to the artificial inflation of the lungs. The patient’s heart thumped again, and Merlin could _feel_ it in his fingers, that there was something to save.

“Everyone back,” Merlin murmured. He pushed his fingers into the heart, as familiar warmth spun down his veins.

The ventilator hooked up to the patient hummed steadily, somehow in tune with the slow drip of blood from the table to the tiled floor. Merlin’s magic unspooled from his fingertips, invisible to the rest of the team but bright gold to him, weaving around the patient’s heart, patching the places where the flesh was weak, binding the tears.

He’d done this before but this time was— _different_.

Time turned slower, thick and syrupy against his skin. Merlin moved his left hand down, away from the patient’s heart and toward the damaged ribbons of tissue and organs, where the bullets would have turned as they entered the body. His magic was still flowing, soaking into the patient in building waves.

The patient’s heartbeat faltered. Distantly, Merlin heard one of the nurses call that he was coding again.

 _No_ , Merlin thought mutinously.

He and the patient teetered together on the edge of an abyss—on one side Merlin with the patient’s heart clamped in one hand, and the other nothing, only terrible darkness, the easy way to go, where this man could fall and fall into nothing. Merlin pulled with his magic, dragging the patient away from the empty dark.

Except the other side wasn’t really _empty_ , there was something else—something _else_ had a hold on the patient’s bloody heart and was pulling too, dragging him downward, away from the light. Merlin looked straight down into the chest cavity, the swamp of blood and ruined organs.

Something looked back at him.

Merlin’s magic crescendoed out of him in a single crashing wave that left him breathless, stumbling back from the operating table. For a moment, his body didn’t feel like it was _his—_ Merlin was just floating inside the meat, aware in the most bewildered way that his bones supported his muscles, that his eyes were burning with dehydration, that blood was pooling in his feet.

“Get me a tube,” Merlin croaked. He was himself again, standing in the operating room looking down at the patient’s chest. It was better—the intestines stood out clean, just stained. Spleen, liver, kidneys, beating heart. No exit wound. “Quickly, before tissue starts to die. We need to drain him.”

The nurses and other physicians followed his directions, though Merlin could see the woman holding the suction tube blink at the abdomen, at the clean lines of the organs through the blood, and another doctor shake his head, like he was trying to clear cobwebs. But there wasn’t time to ask questions. There never was, and later they’d write off the difference to adrenaline, and the fact that they hadn’t gotten a good look at the cavity with Merlin bent over it. They always did.

Then began the next stage, the longer one.

“Scalpel. Splint. Watch the IV line—keep an eye on that artery,” Merlin said. He pushed a bit of tissue to the side gently as he worked, keeping an eye out for bullet fragments. Merlin liked to talk during surgery, to help himself stay calm. “We’re keeping the incision open for now. Watch the BPM.”

By the end of two hours, he felt at least a little bit like himself. He stapled the patient shut around the two tubes himself, even though someone else could half done it. “Infection risk means we’re continuing the antibiotic drip, and make a note that I want his tube checked every few hours in case the fluid coagulates.”

Merlin added the final staple with a clack. The patient was going to have a scar up the center of his chest for the rest of his life, just for starters. This wasn’t the last surgery by far. “I think that was pretty alright overall, don’t you?” 

Someone clapped his arm. Merlin wished, not for the first time, that Gwaine worked in the trauma need instead of in the ER. He would have liked the supportive shoulder. The world always felt a little unreal after a surgery like that.

“Do we know who brought him in, so I can speak to them?” Merlin asked. 

“Over there,” one of the nurses said. Merlin’s head snapped up. A non-medical personnel was at the window of the operating room. He was almost as good looking at the patient but with a darker complexion, more angular cheekbones, long brown hair. His eyes were enormous.

“Excuse me, how did he get in here?” Merlin asked sharply, his head suddenly much clearer. “Medical personnel _only_.”

“I’ll get him out, you finish up,” Sophia muttered. Sophia was infamous for having the worst bedside manner in the ER. Gaius and Nimueh liked to sick her on addicts who came in looking for painkillers. “Hey! You!” 

Merlin wondered for an instant how long the man had been there, but then a wave of exhaustion hit him. He spread his palm on the patient’s chest, feeling the steady heartbeat. _Alive_. He picked up a swab to begin cleaning blood off the man’s chest.

“I can do that,” another nurse said. “You go sit down, Merlin, you look a little pale.”

“Thanks,” Merlin mumbled. “Make a note on his chart that I want him to get a CT scan tomorrow, we’re going to need to go in at least once more to get out the bullets.” The nurse made an affirmative noise and Merlin left, chucking his cap and gown in the biohazard bin as he went.

He found a plastic chair in one of the hallways and sat down, to let his hands shake for a few minutes. His magic churned in his guts, making him lightheaded. Merlin had never fixed someone who was that bad before, not ever. Little pushes in the right direction, keeping hearts beating just long enough to keep from brain death but never—he’d _never_ poured that much magic into a person’s body.

Merlin realized suddenly that he hadn’t even gotten his patient’s name.

“Here you go, Dr. Emrys,” Sophia said. She dropped the patient’s chart into his lap. “His mate’s in the waiting room with the others.”

“I’ll be right there.” Merlin got to his feet. He ducked into the on-call room first, to change into fresh scrubs. Cenred, one of the doctors, was in there too. He and Merlin made eye contact briefly as Merlin yanked off his sweaty top, and Merlin looked away first, his cheeks burning.

Clean again, and with a spritz of Febreze on him to get rid of the OR smell, Merlin headed for the waiting room. As he went, he looked down to find the patient’s name. _Arthur Smith._

His mates were clustered in one corner of the waiting room. They were all fit, like Arthur, and wearing dark clothing, jeans and leather jackets, and all huddled around a very tall policeman.

Merlin paused for a second before approaching them. Odd, he’d have expected the police to come to someone who worked for the hospital first, not start by interviewing the victim’s mates.

“What were you thinking even bringing him to a public hospital?” The brawny cop whispered. “You’re lucky I was on shift, or else you’d be dealing with a lot worse than—”

Merlin blinked. Public hospital? Albion was privately owned.

“He was bleeding out! What were we supposed to do, drive him all the way back to the tower and hope we could keep him alive in the car?” one of them hissed in response. He was black, with great cheekbones and nice eyes. Something about him felt oddly familiar, which might have been what made Merlin inch closer instead of interrupting. “Lance says he’s alive, that’s what matters!”

“You didn’t see him, Percival,” the one who’d been in the OR, Lance, added. He spoke more gently. He was also holding another jacket, this one cut down the back and stained purple with dried blood. “We made the right call, believe me.”

“We’ll see if the king says so,” Percival, the officer, said grimly. Merlin puffed out his breath in surprise. _King_?

“He’ll just be happy his son’s alive,” said another. This one was tall, dirty blonde and the oldest of them. “I made the call, the news should get back to him soon. He’ll want Arthur moved.”

 _Arthur_. That was the patient’s name. For some reason, hearing it aloud made Merlin shiver. _Arthur_.

But strange feelings aside, if they thought they were moving his patient out of the ICU they were bloody well mistaken.

“Excuse me,” Merlin said. “Did you bring in Arthur Smith?”

“Yes!” Leon exclaimed. He stepped forward, Elyan and the others just behind. Merlin had the feeling of being cornered by a pack of hounds. “Where is he?”

“He’s in critical care,” Merlin said. He looked around. “I’m sorry—are any of you Arthur Smith’s family?”

“No, but I’m his emergency contact,” Lance said. He stepped forward. “I’m Lancelot DuLac, I filled out his medical and insurance forms.” Lancelot gestured to the other men. “His family is out of town right now—we’ve left messages.”

“Right,” Merlin said. He cleared his throat. “I performed a bilateral thoracotomy on Mr. Smith, and although he went into cardiac arrest multiple times, we were able to resuscitate him and repair a great deal of the tissue damage. He’ll have to go in for surgery again, most likely several times, and we won’t have a complete picture of his injuries for a few hours, but—he’s stable right now, and out of immediate danger.”

Elyan let out a sort of gasp of relief and sank down in his seat, one hand over his face. Leon made a compulsive motion like he would have hugged Merlin and instead grabbed at his friends—Elyan with one hand, and Percival with the other. Lancelot just shut his eyes, like he was saying a prayer.

“Can we see him?” Lancelot asked, opening his eyes again.

“No, I’m sorry,” Merlin said as gently as he could. “It’s family only. He’s still critical.”

“But—” Elyan started.

“That’s fine,” Lancelot said. He glanced quickly at Elyan, conveying something with the look.  “Thank you very much for saving his life.”

“It’s my job,” Merlin replied. Lancelot watched him, something strange in his gaze. Merlin cleared his throat. “Can you tell me anything about what happened?” He glanced at the cop. “Or—I mean, I suppose I should speak to you?”

“We’ve been talking,” Leon said. “I told the officer—we were all downtown at the pub, getting drinks, and I think we must have been caught between some type of local conflict. Someone came by in a black car, and shot into the alley near where we were coming out the door, and Arthur happened to get caught in it.”

“What sort of car?” Merlin asked.

“A black car,” Leon repeated.

“It’s my job to be asking the questions,” Percival interrupted. He shot Merlin a smile that really didn’t feel all that friendly. _You’re lucky I was on shift_. “Do you have the bullets, so we can get a ballistics report?”

“No, we haven’t taken them out yet,” Merlin said. “The surgery would be too invasive at this time, I put it off for until Mr. Smith’s vitals are steadier.”

“Right,” Percival said. “Have you got his clothes?”

“One of the nurses can get them to you, I’ll make a note,” Merlin said. He glanced at Arthur’s friends. Surely, the officer wasn’t meant to be conducting this investigation right in front of them? “Would you like to move to another room, officer?”

“No, that’s fine,” Percival said. “I think I’ve gotten all the information I need, actually. I’ll be headed back to the precinct to write up a report.” He nodded to Arthur’s friends. “I’ll contact you if I have other questions.”

“Cheers,” Elyan said.

“Thank you, officer,” Lancelot added. He put his hands in his pockets before turning back to Merlin. “Is there anything we can do for Arthur now? Anything at all?”

“No, I’m afraid not,” Merlin said. “Er—the bullets seemed to have come from a pretty high-tech weapon, the ER guys thought assault rifle. It didn’t seem like something local boys could get their hands on very easily.”

“Thanks, doctor. Like I said, I’ve got all the information I need.” Percival nodded to him again before leaving. Merlin glanced at Arthur Smith’s friends. They were huddling back into a knot, whispering together again. Only Lancelot glanced back at Merlin, something a little bit apologetic in the look. Merlin couldn’t help but feel that he was missing something. 

* * *

 The night went on. One person came in with blunt trauma from a car crash. Someone else had tripped and fell down the stairs, and Merlin handed her off to the neurosurgeons—the damage on the knees could wait until her head was checked out. Another GSW, this one in the leg. Merlin filled out a long report for the Chief of Medicine.

When he had a break, Merlin went to check on Gwaine.

Nominally, the top floor of Albion hospital had been shut down years ago, back when the trustees still thought they’d have the budget to renovate the rooftop. Getting to it took going up a flight of back stairs, and picking your way through a mess of old plastic sheeting and half-demolished heaps of brick and mortar. But the plumbing to the loo still worked, and the bathroom itself was a remnant of the old style, with no dividers between the urinals, and a bunch of tiny cracked marble sinks with different taps for hot and cold water. You could even get out onto the roof if you climbed out the window.

Or use the broken windowpane to smoke indoors, like Gwaine did.

“That GSW patient you brought in survived,” Merlin said. He turned on a spigot of cold water and splashed his face.

“I never thought he wouldn’t.” Gwaine shrugged and blew a trail of smoke out the open window. The space heater they’d set up hummed. “That’s why I brought him to you. You always save them.”

“Not always,” Merlin said. He turned off the water and wiped off his hands. “The operation was…I don’t know. Weird.” He leaned against the wall, studying Gwaine. Gwaine had stripped off the top of his scrubs and left it balled in the corner, but Merlin could still see the vomit stains on his bottoms. “Rough shift?”

“Just the usual,” Gwaine said. He flashed Merlin a grin. “You know, there was a whole pack of strapping fellows who brought that guy in—you have time to check them out?”

“That’s unethical,” Merlin grumbled. Gwaine laughed. Merlin rolled his eyes and pushed himself off the wall. “My break’s almost over, I should head back down.”

“See you on the other side,” Gwaine replied. He flicked his cigarette butt outside. Merlin watched the trail of sparks as it rolled over the rooftop gravel. From here, they could only see the Albion dragon where it perched at the head of the hospital, rough and hulking grey stone.

Merlin hurried downstairs before it had the chance to look back.

* * *

Merlin did another lap of his patients in the last hours of his shift. 

Arthur was awake this time. Obviously still bleary, and Merlin guessed the nurses were keeping him on enough painkillers to knock out a heifer, but he was awake. Merlin thought again that Arthur must be an extraordinarily stubborn man.

“Hello Arthur,” Merlin said cheerfully. He rested one hand on the edge of Arthur’s bed. “I’m Dr. Emrys, I’m your surgeon.”

Arthur wasn’t going to remember any of this the next day, so Merlin didn’t try to tell him any specifics, or ask about the shooting. Better not to upset him, at this stage.

Arthur made a gurgling noise in his throat. Merlin patted his shoulder, very gently. One of Arthur’s arms twitched, and Merlin noticed a glint of gold on his forearm—a tattoo of a dragon with its wings spread, about halfway down the tendon.

“That tube is to make sure you keep breathing. We think you should, but I wasn’t taking any chances.” Merlin glanced at his vitals. They were looking pretty good, all things considered. “Don’t worry, Arthur. You’re safe and in good hands.”

That seemed to reassure him. At least, his eyes flickered shut. Merlin stared at him for a second, fighting the impulse to brush a hand through his hair, before he shook off the feeling and headed back to his other patients. 

* * *

 The sun had long since set when Merlin left the hospital. He thrust his hands in his pockets as he went out the door, wishing he’d remembered his gloves.

Two of Arthur’s friends were out there. Merlin drew up short when he saw them. It was Leon and Elyan, both still wearing the clothing they’d been in earlier. Elyan had a coffee. 

“Can I help you two?” Merlin asked.

“We’re just getting some air,” Leon said. He shrugged, failing to look casual.

“Visiting hours have _been_ over, mate,” Merlin said. He pointed over his shoulder. “Your mate is stable, he’s asleep now.”

“We know,” Leon said. Elyan sipped his coffee. Merlin’s eyes strayed to where his other hand was stuffed in his pocket. It was cold, it made sense to have a hand in his pocket. Not suspicious, really. Leon cleared his throat. “We just er, like Arthur a lot.”

“We were hoping we could figure out which was his window,” Eylan added. He flushed, although it might have just been the cold. “He’s just…he’s like a brother, you know?”

“Oh,” Merlin said awkwardly. He turned around and pointed. “Okay, twelfth floor, see over there on the corner? That’s his ward.”

Leon, absurdly, waved at the little golden window. Elyan just looked sad.

“You must love him very much,” Merlin said. Leon cleared his throat again, and Elyan stared into his coffee. “I promise, he’s going to be fine.”

“Thanks,” Elyan said gruffly.

“Just my job.” Merlin stuck his hands back in his pockets. “Seriously, go inside. Get some rest. As a doctor, I can tell you—they won’t let you see Arthur if you’ve caught colds standing out here all night.”

“Will do,” Leon said. Merlin kept walking, towards the street. When he turned around, Leon and Elyan hadn’t moved. They were still standing there in the cold, with their backs to Arthur’s room and hands stuffed in their pockets. They reminded Merlin of sentinels.

He hunched his shoulders and leaned into the wind. Fine, they seemed like tough guys. Hopefully they’d had their flu shots for the season.

Merlin’s building was down the main street from Albion. The tall buildings on either side of the street turned the road into a wind tunnel, cold enough to turn the tips of Merlin’s ears numb. The whole street was small shops with office space and apartments above them, half of them empty. Sometimes Merlin found it a bloody depressing commute.

The wind yanked a tarp off a pile of chairs piled outside a restaurant door and the flapping sound, a bit like the wings of a heavy bird, made Merlin look up.

There was a beautiful woman walking up the sidewalks towards the hospital in her nightie. The nightgown left her arms bare, and whipped around her legs, exposing her ankles and knees to the cold. She was deathly pale, and her long hair blew out behind her in the wind.

“Jesus _Christ_ ,” Merlin said. He hurried forward, already yanking his jacket off his shoulders. “Hey! Ma’am—are you all right?”

Her head snapped around to look at him, her eyes wide and shocked. “What?”

“Here, put this on,” Merlin handed her his parka. It was black, and furry around the collar. “It’s twenty degrees out, Jesus!”

She reached out to take it slowly, like she was in a trance.

“Have you been drinking?” Merlin asked.

“No!” She said sharply. She yanked the parka over her arms. For a second the furry collar seemed to swallow her head, but then her pale face poked through the hole. She wrapped her arms around herself. “No, I haven’t been drinking.”

“Have you taken anything?” Merlin asked. He reached for her wrist automatically to take a pulse, and she jerked her hand away. Merlin raised his, palms flat so she could see he wasn’t holding anything. “I’m a doctor, ma’am.”

“I’m fine,” the woman said. She huddled further into the jacket, still staring at Merlin. “Who _are_ you?”

“My name’s Merlin—I work at the hospital.” Merlin pointed down the street, as if the Albion building wasn’t obviously looming there. He tentatively touched her arm. She was only wearing slippers, he saw, with the bottoms half worn away. “Are you sure—”

“I sleepwalk,” she said. She reached up and pushed a lock of hair out her face. “I live in an apartment a few blocks away, and I sleepwalk, and that’s what I was doing.” She studied him. “My name is Morgana.”

“Morgana,” Merlin repeated. He nodded toward the Starbucks on the other side of the street. “Can I buy you a cuppa, or something?” She hesitated. Merlin smiled, trying to look friendly. “You don’t even have to drink it with me, just sit inside awhile and get warmed up.”

“Thanks,” Morgana said. She followed him into the shop, which was well heated and quiet. Merlin waved at the barista, Mary. She waved back. Morgana watched. “You’re…very friendly.”

“My flatmate and I get coffee here a lot,” Merlin explained. He cleared newspapers off a table and ordered Morgana a hot tea. She sipped it while still studying him, not reacting to the scalding heat. Merlin got a hot cocoa. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine,” Morgana said. She smiled at Merlin again, a bit more uncertainly, and took another sip. “Thank you, for this. I was a little bit dazed, I think.”

“No wonder,” Merlin said. He rested his elbows on the table. “You ought to talk to your doctor about medications, if you’re sleepwalking all the way into the street like that. It’s more than a bit dangerous.”

“I know,” Morgana said. She shrugged. “It’s been a condition since I was a child.” She looked down at one of the newspapers Merlin had pushed aside. It was open to the business section. “Can I have this?”

“Sure,” Merlin said, baffled. Morgana tucked it under her arm. Merlin cleared his throat. _He_ was a bit cold now, without the jacket.

Morgana spoke first. “What are you a doctor of?”

“I’m a trauma surgeon,” Merlin said. He shot her a smile. “Gunshot wounds, car crashes, freak accidents.”

“Really?” She looked honestly interested. “You’re…”

“A bit young. I know,” Merlin ducked his head. “Don’t worry, everybody comments on it.”

“I was going to say, you look a little sweet and innocent for a trauma surgeon,” Morgana said. Merlin tried to decide how to take that. Morgana winced. “Sorry. I’ve not—I just woke up.”

“It’s fine,” Merlin said quickly. “I mean—it’s not like everybody I see dies, it’s not a totally depressing job—I mean, not to discount the people who do, er, die—” Morgana propped her chin in her hand. “You can er, interrupt me at any time.”

“No, no, this is fascinating,” Morgana said. She laughed.

“Can I get you another coffee?” Merlin asked. “I really think you ought to be holding something warm…” Even though her hands didn’t look like they were frostbitten yet… “Can I examine your feet?”

“Excuse me?”

“For frostbite,” Merlin said. Morgana rolled her eyes, but lifted up leg and propped her ankle on Merlin’s lap. Merlin slipped off her slipper—it must have been nice once, but now it was grimy, badly worn. “Wiggle your toes for me?”

Interesting, that she’d been out so long and her feet weren’t even red. Just very pale, but not, to Merlin’s eyes, early-stage frostbite. When he pushed his thumb into the ball of her foot she eyed him, but didn’t seem pained.

“I think we’re really confusing the barista,” Morgana said quietly.

“Oh, Mary’s used to me being weird,” Merlin said absently. Morgana snickered. Merlin squeezed her foot again. Not hard. Just an average foot, a little cold. “Hm.”

“Can I have my foot back?” Morgana said. “And a hazelnut macchiato?”

“Sure,” Merlin put her foot back down and went to order. He had a sudden thought that if he turned his back, Morgana would vanish, but she was still sitting there, flipping through the stock market report. “What are you looking at?”

“Just some news,” Morgana said. She put the paper down and took her drink. “God, that’s heavenly.”

“Mary’s a gem,” Merlin agreed. “Look, can I walk you home or something? Or write a note to your physician about how you’ve got to get on different meds?"

“Going to write a strongly worded letter?” Morgana teased.

“A little bit,” Merlin admitted. He wasn’t very good and writing nasty notes, but he had a whole box of them from supervisors over the years that he could plagiarize.

“Don’t bother,” Morgana said. “With either. I promise, I’ll be fine.” Merlin frowned. Morgana laughed. “God, you are—you are _really_ a sweet person, aren’t you?”

“Er, is that all that unique for people to be decent?” Merlin asked. Morgana pressed her lips together. “Sorry. I just got off a long shift.”

“It’s fine,” Morgana said. “I’ll really be fine.” Merlin hesitated, about to ask her she needed some money for the bus, at least. Morgana took another sip of her macchiato and grimaced. “You know, actually, this is a little strong, do you mind grabbing me a creamer?”

“Sure,” Merlin said. He twisted to reach behind him for the rack of milks and flavor packets. When he turned back, Morgana was gone.

* * *

“Hi Merlin,” Gwen said. She lived on the floor below him, in an apartment that was a little bit less expensive. Gwen worked at the hospital too—half of their building did, Merlin suspected, since the walk was easy. She was one of their social workers. “Did you forget your coat?” 

“I gave it to someone,” Merlin said. Gwen raised her eyebrows. “Long story.”

Merlin opened his box for mail. Nothing much, just an advertisement for some sort of seminar about alternate physical therapy and a postcard from his Mum. Hunith had only ever travelled out of their village for Merlin’s graduation from medical school in London, even though Merlin kept telling her that he had the money, if she wanted to go abroad. She sent him postcards from the shops in the village instead. This one was of a bridge, and some snow.

“You all right, Merlin?” Gwen asked.

“Course,” Merlin said. He managed a smile. “Just—weird day. We had a bad GSW.” 

“Oh Merlin, I’m sorry,” Gwen said. “Gwaine looked pretty tired when he came in as well, I think we’ve had rough days all around.” She jerked her head at the hallway. “I’ve made a curry, if you want a bowl to take back instead of takeout.”

“You’re brilliant Gwen, you really are.” Merlin shut his box. “That sounds perfect.”

“Come on then,” Gwen said, shutting her mailbox. She’d gotten one very thick manila envelope, and what looked like bills. Merlin went with her up the stairs to her flat, which was smaller than his but cozy and a lot cleaner. The curry was bubbling peacefully on the stove. Gwen owned plants too, and somehow kept them all alive.

“What happened to you today?” Merlin asked.

“Oh, you know. That one woman who thinks she’s uncovered a conspiracy of dragon-slayers came in again, and it turns out she threw out all of her meds about two minutes after she got out her last appointment with me.” Gwen spooned curry into a Tupperware. “I just—I _know_ , why I bother. I do know.”

“But there are days,” Merlin said. Gwen passed him the Tupperware. “D’you want to come upstairs and eat with Gwaine and me? We can put on stupid telly.”

“Thanks, but there’s some things I need to take care of around here.” Gwen gestured to her stack of mail.

“Alright,” Merlin said. He glanced at the manila envelope. “If there’s anything you want to talk about, you know where to find me.”

“Thanks, Merlin,” Gwen said. She stood on her tiptoes to hug him. Merlin squeezed her as tight as he could while holding curry. “All right, go on. Give Gwaine my love.”

“Will do,” Merlin promised. He made the final trip up the stairs quickly, shivering.

His flat was well-heated, if not clean. Merlin had forgotten to do dishes that morning, and a whole stack of Gwaine’s stuff was taking up half the table.

“Hey, Merlin,” Gwaine called from the couch. He’d chucked his jacket over the kitchen table and had his feet up. Gwaine had been only been meant to spend a few days sleeping on Merlin’s couch, but months had passed without him finding a place, and they were used to each other.

“Hey,” Merlin replied. “Gwen made curry.”

“I’m going to marry her,” Gwaine said.

“I think she’s turned you down about twenty times now, mate.” Merlin kicked off his shoes and headed for the kitchen.

“Persistence is the key,” Gwaine called after him. Merlin rolled his eyes and started getting out bowls. “So, I saw one of your man’s posse out by the back door when I left my shift.”

Merlin turned around to frown at him. Gwaine wiggled his toes in his dirty socks and grinned. “The pretty one. I almost gave him your number.”

“Shut up, Gwaine,” Merlin said automatically. Then there was a man on each of the major ways into the hospital. Merlin wondered suddenly if Arthur’s other friend had been waiting by the ambulance bay, if there were other men waiting at the loading bays and other entrances.

“You brought curry back for me too, right?” Gwaine asked in sudden alarm.

“Yeah, Gwen gave enough to share.” Merlin spooned some into a bowl for Gwaine and leaned over the couch to give it to him. Gwaine sat up to take it, the scent of cigarettes and body odor wafted at Merlin. “And blimey, have a shower after you’re done.”

“Yes Mummy.” Gwaine spooned curry into his mouth. Merlin rolled his eyes. Gwaine swallowed and scooted back on the couch so Merlin could sit next to him with his bowl on his lap. “Want to watch the Great British Baking Show?”

“God, yes,” Merlin said. He crossed his legs and leaned back into the couch while Gwaine fiddled with the remote. Their after-work ritual, to forget the day and destress.

Still, even with cupcakes in HD filling up the screen, Merlin was fidgety. When he shut his eyes, he kept seeing things—Morgana’s icy foot, Arthur’s foggy blues eyes, and especially the face he’d seen grinning up from Arthur’s intestines, the one he’d almost definitely imagined. He magic was restless too, making the television flicker.

After the fifth time Gwaine got up to kick the television, Merlin gave up and went to his room. He locked the door behind him, out of habit, and sprawled back on the bed. _Relax_ , he ordered himself.

Merlin brought his hands up to his mouth and breathed into them. _Relax,_ he thought again.

When he opened his fist, a butterfly with jagged red wings darted out from between his fingers. Merlin smiled and brought his hands to his mouth again, and again, conjuring gigantic moths with feathery grey wings and iridescent blue butterflies the size of his thumbnail and soft neon fireflies and slender jade-bodied dragonflies, breathing them into the palms of his hands and releasing them to flutter in circles around his ceiling, flapping around his ceiling lights until they dissolved into shadows and strands of light. Merlin fell asleep with a few moths still fluttering above his bed, throwing patches of darkness over his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Note re, the trauma bay scene: I’d like to just reiterate that’s really definitely probably not an accurate depiction of surgery. The basic procedures I lifted from some articles about trauma surgeons/gun violence, but tbqh friends, I’m a tired medievalist who a) is unwilling to intensively research anything that happened post 1453 and b) goes “eeeeew” at surgery stuff and backspaces out of WebMD if the article includes pictures. @ actual trauma surgeons reading this fic, feel free to judge me.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continued warnings for medical bogus, magical bogus, etc. 
> 
> PS: apologies for answering all the comments twenty years late—I graduated undergrad, had a death in the family, received a wildly unexpected scholarship to graduate school, and got a new job. It’s been a little nuts, but I read and very much appreciate everything <3

There was a note pinned to Merlin’s locker when he came in the next morning, printed on the official Albion stationary with the black dragon sitting in the corner and the Chief of Medicine’s letterhead at the top. _Come to my office immediately_.

No need to ask who it was from. Merlin shivered as he pulled his scrubs over his head. Honestly, as much as he appreciated their donors contributing medical equipment and the like, some funds to fix the heating system wouldn’t be amiss either. He tucked his ID into his pocket and hurried out of the lockers, trying not to look too much like he’d been summoned to the principal’s office.

“Did you forget how to knock?” Gaius asked, when Merlin pushed open the door. He put down the file he’d been reading as Merlin sat down.

“Sorry,” Merlin said. Gaius’s office was in one of the corner towers, with a broad mahogany desk and a tall window angled so Gaius could have a partial view of the Albion dragon where it perched at the front of the central building. “What’s wrong?”

“I wanted to speak to you about your GSW from yesterday,” Gaius said. He scrutinized Merlin over the bridge of his glasses. “He’s doing remarkably well.”

“That’s good.” Merlin shifted his weight. He was twenty-seven, and whenever Gaius looked at him like that he felt twelve again, and he’d accidentally turned his Mum’s civic into a pumpkin and was about to be scolded for it.

“Very well, in fact,” Gaius said. He folded his hands on the table. “So I have to ask—what _exactly_ did you do?”

“What do you mean?” Merlin asked.

“Merlin,” Gaius said severely. “I know that every now and then, despite my repeated warnings and instructions to the contrary, you use a bit of magic to push your patients in the right direction.”

Merlin grimaced. They’d been having this fight since Merlin began medical school. Sometimes Merlin thought the only reason Gaius had even offered him a position in Albion Hospital was to keep an eye on him.

“But this…this is beyond that.” Gaius shook his head and pushed the chart across the table to Merlin. The X-rays from the trauma bay were clipped on, thanks to some helpful nurse. So was the CT scan the night shift had done.

The difference was…startling.

“Most remarkable, to my mind, is that one of his ribs seems to have healed already,” Gaius commented. “Not only that, but the way his tissue is holding together, particularly in the lower abdominal region, is simply extraordinary.”

“Mmhm.” Merlin studied the scan. The bullet fragments were partially obscured, but he could trace a few that looked worrying close to Arthur’s lungs, and a few that could easily begin to work their way towards his liver. None of them would be large enough to penetrate the tissue, but they’d be hotspots for long lasting irritation and infection. Priorities for surgery later.

“Merlin, are you listening to me at all?” Gaius asked sharply.

“Yes,” Merlin said quickly. He put the chart down. “Yes, I used magic. He was _dying_ Gaius—”

“Sometimes that happens, Merlin,” Gaius said quietly. Merlin shook his head. He wanted to tell Gaius about the procedure, about the way they’d been teetering and the way he’d felt that he _had_ to save Arthur, as if the whole universe depended on it. “We can’t save everyone.”

“We can try.” Merlin set his jaw. Or maybe he didn’t want to tell Gaius about those feelings after all.

“Not if you’re discovered and forced out,” Gaius began. He sighed, clearly as sick of this argument as Merlin. “You cannot practice medicine from a laboratory, or a mental asylum, and the risk you take—”

“I can’t practice if I’m more concerned with protecting myself than saving my patient’s life either,” Merlin retorted. He got up, his chair screeching on the floor as it moved. “If that’s everything?”

“Don’t get passive aggressive with me,” Gaius snapped. He softened his tone. “I’m only trying to keep you safe, you know that.”

 “Sorry,” Merlin said.

Gaius sighed. “You play a dangerous game when you interfere with life and death, Merlin.”

Merlin shrugged. It was hardly more dangerous than being a patient bleeding out on the table, with no one in the world to help you. For a second, his mind flashed to the face he’d seen, but he pushed the image out of his head. 

“Go,” Gaius waved him out of the office. “Look after your patients.”

 Merlin left Gaius’s office and took the elevator back down to trauma. He reviewed the chart as the elevator ground its way down the shaft—Arthur _was_ doing well. His vitals had held strong through the night, and they’d taken out his endotracheal tube. Not reporting any pain. Merlin’s brow furrowed. That was…worrying.

And, thanks to Gaius, he was already running late.

“Hey, Merlin,” Daegal called from the desk. He was one of their surgical residents, one of the ones who tended to get a bit dewy-eyed whenever Merlin walked past. Merlin fought down the urge to wince. Daegal was flattering sometimes, but really not a help on busy mornings. “Someone swung by earlier, left a note for you.”

“Who?” Merlin asked.

“Dunno, didn’t leave a name,” Daegal stood up to pass Merlin the folded slip of paper. “I didn’t actually see him, he came by during the night shift.”

“Huh.” Merlin took the note. It was a plain sheet of paper, nothing remarkable. The note was typed. _Meet in Starbucks, noon. I know your secret._

For an instant, Merlin couldn’t breathe.

“What is it?” Daegal asked, trying to look over Merlin’s arm.

“Just a note,” Merlin said. He crushed it in his hand and pushed it into the pocket of his scrubs. “Thanks, Daegal.”

* * *

Unfortunately, as much as Merlin wanted to lock himself in the on-call closet and hyperventilate for a few hours, surgical rounds stopped for no man.

Arthur Smith was awake when Merlin came to speak to him, and already scowling. Merlin couldn’t quite blame him. At this stage, Arthur’s hospital gown was still tied in the front to allow for the antibiotic drip and mediastinal tubes, and the oxygen hooked up to his nose couldn’t have been comfortable either.

“Hi, Arthur.” Merlin smiled at him, trying to _not_ look like his world was teetering on the edge of total catastrophe. “How are we feeling this morning?”

“ _I_ feel about as well anybody who’d just been shot would, I think,” Arthur croaked. He stared at Merlin. “Aren’t you a little young to be a surgeon?”

“Some have said,” Merlin replied, trying his best to keep his tone cheerful. “But I’ve got my license, if you want to see it.” Arthur made a disagreeable noise, like he might just make Merlin go find the license, just to be a pain in the arse. “Arthur, you were shot late yesterday afternoon, while you were out with your mates—”

“Yes, I remember,” Arthur interrupted. Remarkable, how someone who could barely raise their voice above a whisper could manage to still sound that snobby.

“I performed a bilateral thoracotomy on you.” Merlin began. “That meant I had to crack your chest open and massage your right and left ventricles—”

“I’m sorry, you did _what?_ ” Arthur managed.

Right. Some patients liked hearing details, some didn’t. Merlin reminded himself, for the umpteenth time, not to talk so much.

“We had to go in to do reconstructive surgery on your insides,” Merlin explained. He held up Arthur’s CAT scan, so Arthur could see it. Arthur stared, his face gone slightly white. “We were able to save a lot of your tissue, and we’re keeping you monitored to make sure there’s no infection.” Merlin gestured to the tubes. “You’re still a bit open, just to make sure we don’t close up before we know you’re on the right track.”

“That’s bloody fantastic,” Arthur said. He went crosseyed, trying to look down at the equipment protruding from his chest.

“With your consent, we’ll be doing a second surgery this morning,” Merlin continued doggedly. “We still need to remove the bullets, otherwise they’ll almost inevitably provoke infection and irritation.”

“Did you forget to get them the first time?” Arthur inquired.

Merlin yanked his eyes away from the chart to glare at Arthur. “You were too weak to handle the procedure.” Arthur glared back at him. “But, as you’ve apparently gotten stronger, I feel comfortable conducting the surgery as soon as possible.”

“Well as long as _you_ feel comfortable,” Arthur replied.

“That reminds me,” Merlin said. The sooner he got out of this room, the better. “When the nurses asked you earlier, you reported not feeling any pain.” Arthur nodded, his jaw set. Merlin frowned at him. “You ought to have some pain, even with the medications.”

“Perhaps you did your job right for once,” Arthur said coolly.

“You know if you weren’t my patient I’d be saying that you’re being a right ungrateful arse right now.” The words slipped out before Merlin could stop them. Arthur stared at him. Merlin froze. _Shit, shit, shit._  

Somehow, Arthur laughed. It was a thin, breathy, sound, one that made Merlin think there was a different laugh hiding in Arthur’s chest, one that could blow the roofs off houses. Merlin shook his head slightly. Stupid, random, thought.

“Aren’t you people supposed to have bedside manner?” Arthur asked. His tone was half incredulous, half delighted. “I could have you reprimanded for that.”

“You’re bloody welcome to try,” Merlin said.

“Are you serious?” Arthur asked.

“I don’t know where the hell you’re from, but you’re in my ward right now, and if you want to go whine at the Chief of Medicine you can go right ahead, but I’ll still be the surgeon who saved your life, and I’m still the one who’s going to be operating on you, unless you’d like to spend the rest of your life crapping out a colostomy bag.” Merlin had been going somewhere with that, he was sure of it. “So er…stuff it.”

Arthur stared at him. Merlin had no idea how to interpret that expression, so he pretended to make notes on Arthur’s chart.

“I feel _fine_ ,” Arthur finally said.

“Sure,” Merlin said. He tucked the chart under his arm. “Nurses are going to come by soon to prep you for the surgery.” He paused, then fixed an evil on Arthur. “And by the way you can be as rude as you like to me, but you’d better not to be rude to them, or I’ll hear about it.”

“I wouldn’t be rude to a _nurse_ ,” Arthur said. He sounded quite insulted. “I’m not a complete prat.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Merlin replied.

“Hmpf.” Arthur said. He glanced away, then back at Merlin.

“What?” Merlin asked wearily.

“Well,” Arthur said. He cleared his throat. “I think that listening your prattle has certainly pushed me up to an eight, at least. Maybe an eight and a half, even, thanks to your breath, which I can smell from all the way over here.”

Merlin opened his mouth to furiously protest, then caught the way Arthur was staring at the ceiling, his jaw clenched very tightly.

“Fine, 8.5 it is,” Merlin said. He shook his head. “I don’t know who you’re trying to fool.”

Arthur didn’t say anything when Merlin walked out.

* * *

 They put Arthur into surgery a few hours later, after Merlin had done his rounds and performed two other procedures, one for another GSW and one for a car crash victim, as well as three consultations for the doctors in the ER. Arthur went under without a problem, blue eyes going hazy as Mithian, their anesthesiologist, talked him through the slide into unconsciousness.

His heart was doing well, all things considered. Merlin gently shifted around Arthur’s intubation, but the tissue was all clean. Good. They could focus on getting out the bullet fragments. The ones he hadn’t _forgotten_ to take out the first time, thank you very much.

“I’m going to explore a little further down,” Merlin said, as he placed another sliver of metal on the operating table. “Sophia, I need the ten inch, please.”

Sophia didn’t move. She was looking at Arthur’s face, something peculiar in her eyes.

“Sophia!” Merlin said sharply. She blinked and reached across the table to fetch him the instrument. “You alright?”

“Do you recognize him from anywhere?” Sophia asked.

“No,” Merlin said. He hooked around one of Arthur’s ribs, looking for where the screen above them showed a bit of metal embedded. “Ten inch, please?”

Sophia passed it to him. It seemed for a second that her hand was shaking.

“He’s very good looking, though,” Sophia said. Merlin decided he’d been imagining it.

“If you go in for fake tans,” Merlin muttered. He glanced up at the screen above their head. “Move a little to the left, please.”

Arthur’s internal organs were looking bloody handsome too, all nice and uninfected. What a prat. Merlin resisted the urge to stab him in the intestine with the scalpel.

“Suction,” Merlin murmured, as he gently pushed aside Arthur’s spleen. “Forceps.” Still holding the organ back, Merlin began to excavate another patch of fragments. Arthur ought to have been looking at about five different organ transplants, if it weren’t for Merlin. Not that he’d get any thanks.

“Sir, it looks like there’s some strain on the sutures at the abdominal wall,” one of the attendings said.

Merlin took his eyes from the tiny dark slivers and looked at the sutures. The tissue there was swollen, one of the dozens of sites on Arthur’s body just begging to be a problem.

“We’ll redo them, I think,” Merlin said. “Blood clamp, please.”

This was going to be a very, very, long surgery. 

* * *

 “Hi Merlin,” Mary greeted him when Merlin stepped into the Starbucks.

“Hi Mary,” Merlin replied automatically. He scanned the café. Two residents who were _definitely_ swapping gossip in the corner, one of their cardiovascular surgeons staring at a biscotti with a sort of existential despair, someone else in scrubs who he didn’t recognize stirring milk into their coffee. No one who would know.

“Are you feeling all right, Merlin?” Mary asked, sounding worried.

“I’m fine, just a long day,” Merlin said. Lancelot, sitting in a booth at the back of the café with a croissant and a cappuccino, reading a newspaper. “Excuse me—" Merlin made his way through the shop and sat down. “You.”

“Me,” Lancelot agreed. He set down the paper.

“I don’t have any secrets,” Merlin began. He unfolded the note. “I really don’t know what you think you’re talking about with this.”

“Dr. Emrys, I’m not blind,” Lancelot said. “I saw what you did.”

“I did my job. Intensive trauma surgery, that’s all,” Merlin said. He pressed his hands into his thighs to keep them from shaking. “Medicine, not magic.”

“I’m not stupid, either,” Lancelot said. “I saw what happened to Arthur. Even if he survived, he’d be _lucky_ to be in a wheelchair for the rest of his life.” Lancelot leaned forward. “And I _saw_. Your eyes were bright gold. And his body—it was glowing too, like you’d set him on fire. You reached into Arthur with magic and you _brought him back to life_.”

Merlin swallowed. “Most people can’t see magic.”

“I have some experience.” Lancelot shrugged.

“Are you going to tell anyone?” Merlin asked. His heart pounded.

“No!” Lancelot exclaimed. “Christ, no. Do you think I’d do that to someone? Even _if_ anyone would believe me?”

“Then what do you _want_?” Merlin demanded.

“I wanted to say thank you,” Lancelot said.

“Oh,” Merlin said. That was…unexpected.

“Are you alright?” Lancelot asked. Merlin cleared his throat. Lancelot sat back, letting Merlin take the second to compose himself. God, he hadn’t realized how long it had been since someone said thank-you to him who wasn’t some type of sobbing relative. “Nobody knows, do they?”

“Only family,” Merlin said. And Will, who’d tripped and fallen trying to climb over the fence between their yards and found out when Merlin placed his thumb the scrape on his knee and made the skin knit back over the blood, and Freya, with her dark eyes and easy laugh and a blight at her core that led to Merlin at her bedside, shaking and crying as his attending physician pulled the sheet over her face.

And now Lancelot, who reached across the table to put his warm hand over Merlin’s wrist.

“I won’t tell anyone. I swear.” Lancelot made it sound like an oath. “You _saved Arthur_. It’s the least I can do.”

“Thanks,” Merlin managed.

“And I have something else,” Lancelot said. He rested his elbows on the table. “A warning, I suppose.” Merlin’s brow furrowed. “Very soon, a man is going to visit you at the hospital. Arthur’s father."

“I’d hope,” Merlin said, bewildered. It was a bit incredible to him that none of Arthur’s family had come in yet. If Arthur wasn’t such a prat, Merlin would have felt bad for him.

“Listen to me,” Lancelot said urgently. “He’s going to offer you things. Refuse.”

“I don’t understand,” Merlin said. His brow furrowed. “We’re not allowed to take gifts from patients, the NHS banned it a few years back.”

“You won’t understand.” Lancelot’s grip on his wrist tightened. “But this is all I can do, to repay you for saving my friend. _Refuse anything Uther offers you_. If it’s money, or a private position, or a donation to the hospital, or even just a favor. _Do not get involved with him_.”

Merlin leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Lancelot, what the hell are you playing at?”

“Nothing.” Lancelot let go of Merlin’s wrist. “Absolutely nothing.”

“You’re joking,” Merlin said. Lancelot shrugged. “Seriously?”

“Nothing is going on.” Lancelot picked up the newspaper. “That’s everything I can give you. Thank you, again.”

“So that’s _it_?” Merlin demanded. Lancelot shrugged. “You didn’t even buy me a coffee.”

Lancelot laughed. It was a lovely, warm, sound, not the kind Merlin would associate with men who issued cryptic warnings and guarded hospital entrances. “I guess that was impolite.”

“Very cheap,” Merlin crossed his arms and slouched back in his seat. “Arthur’s doing great, by the way. I got out his second surgery about half an hour ago, and it went without any complications.” And Merlin hadn’t even used magic. Sometimes he felt bloody underappreciated.

“Thank you,” Lancelot repeated. Merlin wondered how many times Lancelot would say that. The only person he’d met who was that polite was Gwen, and even she wasn’t that bad. “When do you think he’ll be out?”

“Er,” Merlin said.

“Soon?” Lancelot asked.

“No,” Merlin shook his head emphatically. “Definitely not. A month, maybe. If he keeps doing well.”

“Shit,” Lancelot ran a hand through his hair. “So…he probably won’t be fit for rigorous physical activity any time soon either, then?”

Merlin squinted at him. “Are you talking about sex?”

“No.” Lancelot sighed. Merlin wondered if he got that question a lot. “No, I mean you know, running, jumping about.” Lancelot shrugged. “If it would help, I could tell you we had an upcoming rugger match.”

“But you don’t,” Merlin guessed. Lancelot shrugged again. “Whatever it is, he won’t be fit for it for months, at least.”

“I…I thought so, but I had to ask,” Lancelot said quietly. “Shit,” he repeated. Merlin raised his eyebrows. “We have a time sensitive project.”

“Too bad,” Merlin said unsympathetically. “He’s not moving.”

“Right,” Lancelot said. He ran a hand through his hair again. “Could you emphasize that when you speak to his father?”

“What the hell is going on that’s so important?” Merlin asked. He leaned forward. “Whatever it is, if it’s going to interfere with Arthur’s treatment, or if it’s endangering him—”

“Merlin, it’s nothing you need to worry about,” Lancelot said. He got to his feet. “Thank you, again for saving Arthur. Remember what I said about his father.”

“I’m not afraid, whatever it is,” Merlin declared. Lancelot pressed his lips together, like he was trying not to laugh. Merlin scowled at him. “I’m not.”

“I’ll see you around, Merlin.” Lancelot sighed. “And—”

 _Don’t tell Arthur we spoke_. Lancelot didn’t have to say it. Merlin watched him leave, shooting Mary a friendly smile on his way out and grabbing a few cups off a nearby table to chuck in the recycling bin next to the door. 

He seemed a little too nice to be involved whatever business Arthur Smith was wrapped up in.

Merlin looked at the paper Lancelot had been reading. It was the business section, another article about an upcoming merger. _Pendragon Industries strengthening ties to Orkney Inc_. Merlin knew Pendragon Industries, if only barely—they had a huge office building right in the center of downtown. Bit of an eyesore, if you asked Merlin. He had no idea what they actually sold, or bought, or whatever.

Maybe Lancelot owned stock or something. Merlin left the paper on the table, and was halfway through ordering himself a coffee to take back with him when he realized he’d lost his wallet.

* * *

Merlin stopped into Arthur’s room to check on him, the last stop on his final rounds. Arthur was conscious, but must have only recently woken up—he couldn’t follow Merlin’s progress as Merlin walked into the room, or focus on him as Merlin picked up the chart. 

“I want my mum,” Arthur mumbled. Merlin paused by his bedside and adjusted the sheets. “Where is she?”

“She’s out of town, Arthur,” Merlin said gently. Arthur blinked up at him dumbly. When he was high on painkillers like this, Merlin could appreciate what pretty eyes he had. “With your father, remember? They’ll come back for you soon. Probably tomorrow.”

“T’morrow?” Arthur asked.

“Tomorrow. I promise,” Merlin said. He kept fiddling with Arthur’s bedsheets. No reason not to, it wasn’t as though he weren’t _allowed_ to adjust the sheets, even if it didn’t have much to do with surgery.

“Ugubuh,” Arthur mumbled, as his bed dropped back on the pillow. Merlin chuckled. Arthur let out a little snuffle, but he was clearly falling back into unconsciousness. Rightly so, after that procedure.

Shit, he really was _cute_.

Merlin grimaced and shifted off the bed, stopping to pretend to mess with the sheets. That was distinctly unfair, that Merlin was bony and had coffee stains on his teeth and hadn’t had a haircut in two years because surgery kept him so busy, and his patient was allowed to just look…bloody _angelic_.

Merlin left him there, since it was time for him to go home, dammit. He took the elevator back down into the locker rooms, trying to put his patients out of his mind. It was one of the tenets he'd been taught at medical school--leave your work  _behind_ when you got off your shift. It wasn't something Merlin had ever been much good at.

Gwaine had already left from his midday shift—he’d left his canvas jacket folded on the bench in front of Merlin’s locker, with a little post-it note attached. _Not coming home tonight ; ) PS: quit losing jackets_  

Gwaine must’ve been headed down to the pub. Merlin shook his head as he pulled the jacket around his shoulders. Gwaine’s unrelenting confidence that he could find someone to go with any night he chose was admirable, and unfortunately warranted. Merlin thought that was probably a sign that they needed to keep a closer eye on the tapwater.

He patted the pockets of the coat absently. There was the familiar feel of _very_ old dog biscuits in the front pocket, Gwaine’s back-up lighter, an apple core, a condom wrapper.

But not keys. _Shit_. Merlin patted the pockets of his scrubs. No, but he’d had them this morning, which meant he forgot to put them in his locker, which meant they’d fallen out sometime when he was on shift…probably when he was playing Florence Nightingale with Arthur Smith. _Shit_.

Merlin took the elevator back up to the ICU, praying that no one would notice him and decide that they needed an impromptu surgical consult. They were shift changing at the desk, which always meant Daegal would be distracted while he passed on all the day-shift gossip on to Gilli (who was equally moony about Merlin, but a little less _obvious_ ). Merlin scuttled past the desk, trying to stay hunched up and inconspicuous.

At least the shift-change meant that no one would be swinging around to check on patients for at least another fifteen minutes. Merlin’s sneakers made almost no sound on the tiles as he snuck towards Arthur’s little room.

Sophia was already there, fiddling with one of the drips leading into Arthur’s array of chest tubes. 

“Sophia?” Merlin asked, startled. 

She whirled around, her eyes enormous. She must have been having an even longer day than Merlin was—her face was deadly pale, and her eyes looked red and bloodshot, like she’d been crying. Which was unsettling, since of the nursing staff, Sophia was one of the tougher ones.

“Dr. Emrys!” She was holding Arthur’s morphine drip, like she was changing his IV. But Merlin had ordered that dosage changed _hours_ ago, she couldn’t possibly have only been getting to it now. “What are you doing here?”

“He’s my patient?” Merlin asked. He glanced at the bedside and yes, there were his keys, lying on the floor by Arthur’s pillow. “Sophia, are you alright?”

“I’m fine!” Her voice rose an octave. Merlin stepped forward, with the awkward feeling that, being one of the surgeons, he ought to offer to help somehow. Sophia skittered back, still holding the tube.

She also seemed to be holding a syringe. Merlin stared at the needle in her hands, then back up at Sophia.

“What are you doing?” Merlin asked carefully. He stepped closer, and her hands tightened on the instrument, until her knuckles were white. “Maybe you should give that to me.”

“No!” She surged forward, holding the syringe like some kind of dagger. Merlin took two steps back but Sophia moved faster, slamming the needle straight into his shoulder. Merlin gaped at her. 

“What the bloody hell—” he tried, but she pressed down on the plunger, and the world blurred.

In the back of his mind Merlin noted that she seemed to have hit the upper half of his axillary vein, which would of course be draining whatever she’d injected him with straight into his subclavian vein, and into his heart _very_ quickly. Really, she was a very impressive nurse.

He barely even felt it when the back of his head smacked the ground.

“It has to be this way,” Sophia whispered, and whether she was talking to him or to herself was unclear. She reached into her pocket and picked out another needle. She picked up the tube again and _oh_ , so she was going to inject it into Arthur’s drip, well that _would_ be harder to trace— 

Merlin heaved himself to his feet, his head spinning. Sophia’s mouth opened, maybe in a scream, but Merlin couldn’t seem to hear anything properly. He lurched forward, vaguely aware that he wasn’t sure _what_ his body was actually doing.

His magic, on the other hand, was never out of reach. 

The spell wasn’t very refined, but it was _enough_ —Sophia went flying back, lifting off the floor entirely and slamming against the wall hard enough to make the tiles crack. The syringe went clattering across the floor, and Sophia slumped over, blood winding down from her temple to her chin. Merlin noted that he seemed to be on the floor again, and oh, that sounded like running footsteps, and then _that_ sounded like Arthur Smith shouting his name, and then there weren’t any sounds except the rush of darkness coming up behind his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Hopefully not as a long a wait between chapters this time :)


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